The Crackfic Series of Alternate Universes
by Alsike
Summary: Emma Frost and Emily Prentiss star in surprising fusion adventures, settings including Aladdin, 1984, Supernatural, and a Noir-type adventure based on Barbie's Mermadia
1. Aladdin

**The Wrong Wall**

-by Alsike

Rule one about small children: If they ask for a story, read one, do not make one up.

Rule two: If they beg you to make one up, crib heavily from folklore or Disney movies, do not try to come up with a compelling plot on your own. Do not try to summarize Dostoyevsky. Children have little patience for psychological novels, especially ones without happy endings.

Rule three: If you do manage to come up with a workable idea, and the child falls asleep halfway through, do not extend it into a pornographic fantasy for your lover's entertainment, because the next night, when the child requests for you to finish the story, it will be very difficult to edit all the dirty bits out.

It was the wrong wall. That was all she could say. Running from the Sultan's guards she had been dashing over rooftops, cutting through alleys, bouncing off tents, and she had come to this wall. It was in her way, and there didn't seem to be any way to go around it, so she went over with daring and style.

Well, the style lasted until she tripped over one of the spiky bits and fell, head first, into a perfumed pool, displacing a few lilies, a pair of swans, and six shrieking maidens. (Honestly, they had seemed like maidens at the time!)

"It's a man! A man!"

Man or not, she was going to drown, thought Emily as she spluttered to the surface once more and then went under again. But a hand wrapped around her ragged shirt and dragged her into shallow water. Straightening up, Emily blinked.

She must be dead, she thought. The world she knew was sand and stones, rough patched tents and warm piles of garbage to sleep in. This place she was in now was a garden lined in marble and gold with flowers and fountains. The cushions were silk and the canopies velvet, and it was full of beautiful women, all ages, and in all stages of dress and undress. The group that had just fled the pool in particular were only distractedly protecting their modesty, too interested in what the purportedly male visitor would do next.

Emily thought back quickly, wondering whether she might have managed to die for Allah any time in the recent past and just not noticed. Nothing sprung to mind, not that that meant it hadn't happened.

"Do try to breathe," commented a cool arch voice. "It would be a shame to have you suffocate _after_ having been saved from drowning."

Emily hurriedly sucked in air, not having noticed the tightness in her chest, and glanced around to see the person who had saved her.

She was a foreigner, pale as a ghost, with eyes like chips of sapphire and just as hard. Emily gaped vaguely. "Are you Houri?"

"I hate to tell you this isn't paradise. You look like you could use a little bit of it."

Emily felt suddenly self-conscious. She hadn't quite recovered from the few months she had spent in prison. With her wet shirt clinging to her body, the outlines of her ribs were visible, and her hair was still roughly hewn, barely falling past her ears. She tugged out her shirt so at least the marks on her back wouldn't be visible through the thin cloth.

"Is it really a man, Emma?" inquired a stern voice. Emily winced as she spotted the battleaxe of a woman coming towards her.

"Um…" she wasn't quite certain which response would get her in more trouble.

"Really? I've never seen a man!"

A child, also pale and foreign, peeked out from behind the woman and examined Emily eagerly.

"Of course you have. You've seen the Sultan, haven't you?"

"But he's not a man. He's the Sultan!"

And Emily suddenly had a strong inkling of where she had ended up. She hurriedly looked about for guards, but none were immediately menacing.

"And the Eunuchs."

The child made an expression that they were not quite satisfactory to the definition either.

"I'm sorry to inform you," said Emma, her rescuer, coolly, "that it is not a man." Her eyes flicked over to Emily's and she arched an eyebrow ironically. "Just a boy."

"Aww," the child pouted.

"I will call for the guards."

"Oh, please don't!" yelped Emily.

The battleaxe peered down at her and looked disapproving. "And why should we not?"

"They'll _kill _me this time."

It was probably futile to throw herself on their mercy, but Emily didn't have any other options.

"I am certain that it is their duty to do so, and completely within their right."

"Madame Selene," interjected her rescuer. "Isn't it apparent that this… _boy…_ has suffered the attentions of the Sultan's guards enough already?"

The battleaxe's eyes fell on Emily again, but seemed unmoved. It was the child who exclaimed, "He's been whipped!"

There was outcry from the gathered women, and Emily felt the tide slightly shift in her favor. Selene's eyes narrowed, but her target was Emily's rescuer rather than Emily herself.

"So what do you suggest, Emma?"

Emma's fingers closed around Emily's chin and turned her face towards Selene. "He's pretty."

A heavy banging came on two arched doors on the far side of the natural enclosure. "The Sultan's guards request to search the harem!" came a booming call.

The women shrieked again and started hurrying around, draping themselves in scarves and cloth. Even the ones who were covered, wrapped scarves around their heads, shadowing their faces.

Emma hoisted Emily out of the pond and pulled her towards a dim doorway. "Come."

She pulled her into a small room, filled to the brim with silks and dresses. "Strip, and throw those clothes in the brazier. They need burning to get the lice out."

Emily hunched her shoulders, attempting to avoid her eyes.

"Oh, relax. I knew they'd be more interested in you if they thought you were a boy. A woman like you, they wouldn't have any problem throwing to the tigers."

Hesitantly Emily turned around and started stripping off her ragged clothes. The hiss of breath when the wet cloth peeled away from her still raw welts was her own. Her rescuer did not react at all. When she was naked, Emma tossed her a cloth.

"Dry yourself."

Then she found clothes and wrapped Emily carefully in silks, not touching her back, but groping her breasts absently with a slight grin of amusement that made her very uncomfortable.

The scarf that went around her head and covered her head was the last addition. Emma pushed back her blunt fringe and considered the result.

"You are pretty. Not interested in using it?"

Emily cringed at the implication, and Emma laughed. "It's not _that_ bad. Especially here. He has so many to choose from, and so many that are competing for his favor, that if you just slide into the background you hardly have to visit at all."

"I'd rather be thrown to the tigers than be a slave."

Emma rolled her eyes and shoved her towards the door. "Oh, don't tell me the guards didn't do you worse in prison."

"Why do you think they whipped me?" Emily spat back. "I wouldn't let them touch me."

"And after?"

"I cut a man's throat with his own knife and escaped. It makes them stupid. You have to see your chance."

"Shh," Emma pressed her finger against Emily's lips. "They're looking for you."

The guards were rooting through the harem, overturning benches and peeking around corners, but giving the women a wide berth. The line of beefy-armed eunuchs behind them was probably encouraging this.

The searched everywhere, but didn't even look in Emily's face as she stood brazenly before them. Eventually one said that the culprit must have gone along the wall, and dropped back down into the city somewhere a few streets down, and they left.

Emily breathed again.

When the guards had left, the women convened a meeting, and said that the boy would be allowed to stay for one night, but he would be locked in the far enclosure, and in the morning he would find a way to leave, or they would inform the eunuchs of his presence.

Emily slowly realized in their discussion that these women were all prisoners here. They were thrilled with considering the ways she might escape. She wondered if any would dare to follow.

It grew dark and they pushed her into the enclosure. It had been built for a pet tiger who had long since died, but it latched very securely. She rattled the door once or twice before settling down in the little hut on the tiger's old cushion to try to sleep.

"Boy, boy," came a whisper at her cage, she crawled out of the hut and over to the bars where the child from before was hovering, her strange light hair glistening in the moonlight. "You look funny in those clothes. Your hair's all boy, but your clothes are all girl."

Emily smiled awkwardly and shrugged. Everyone had been very amused by the costume before. She wondered if she actually had been a boy, whether this would have been even more embarrassing. It was humiliating enough as it was.

"Will you kiss me?"

"What?" Emily yelped.

The child looked irritated. "I want you to kiss me. I've never kissed a boy."

"But I don't think-"

"You had better do it, or I'll shout and say you tried to touch me."

This was certainly a child much older than she looked. "Do you know what happens to little girls who lie?"

"I'm going to shout."

"Fine!" Emily cursed.

The child giggled. "You curse like a boy!"

She pressed her face against the bars and puckered her lips. Emily wrinkled her nose, but brushed her mouth quickly across that of the child's. It was barely a peck, but the girl laughed and scurried off.

"Well that was interesting." Emma stepped out of the shadows.

Emily leaned against the bars and groaned. "It was extortion."

"She has a talent for it." Emma unhooked the latch and stepped inside the enclosure. "I brought something for your back."

"Oh."

Emma quickly bullied her back into the hut and made her strip off the top of her clothing and lie down on the cushion. She straddled Emily's hips and settled onto her ass. Emily kept her arms pressed tightly to her sides.

The salve was cool and Emma's fingers gently spread it over her inflamed back. Emily tried to stay quiet, but when she reached a particularly painful welt, she couldn't help letting out a soft moan. But it worked quickly, and the pain faded sparse seconds after the salve's application. She could feel Emma's breath on her neck, and when she ran her hands over her lower back, she moaned again, but for a different reason.

"I know what you are," Emma whispered in her ear. Then, unexpectedly, she pressed her lips to Emily's neck. Emily stiffened. "I want it."

She half lifted up, twisting around to see Emma's face. "But-"

"I am just as good at extortion as that little girl," she whispered like a threat.

"Why? Why me?" It seemed absurd that in this tight female world there would be no opportunity for such a thing. But Emma just smiled and leaned in, pressing her nose into her hair just behind her ear and breathing in.

"Because you smell like outside."

Emily turned farther into her and caught her mouth, kissing her. Emma kissed back, lips parted, tongues pressing against each other. Rolling Emily fully onto her back, she twisted her fingers into her hair, keeping her head tipped back, and her mouth occupied. Emily struggled to push away her loose clothing until she could feel her skin. Finally it slipped away, and they pressed together, Emily's arms wrapping around her torso and pulling her down.

Emma broke the kiss and took a swift gasp of air. She looked down, slightly incredulous, and shook her head. Then her hands slid up Emily's chest and cupped her breasts. She bent her head and nipped gently at the skin of her neck.

"I just need to taste something real."

Emily closed her eyes and breathed in a fantasy.

"Shit!"

Emily woke up slowly, feeling warm and relaxed for the first time in far too long. Morning light was falling in the doorway of the hut, and Emma was hurriedly dressing.

"I shouldn't have stayed." Emma cursed. "I shouldn't have slept."

Emily sat up slowly and looked around for something to put on.

Emma slipped out the doorway as she pulled her outer robe loosely around her, and Emily moved awkwardly to the doorway of the hut.

Emma hadn't gone far. The gate was locked and Selene was leaning against the bars.

"Hello, Emma," she said, clearly unsurprised. "How lovely to see you here."

"Selene," Emma replied stiffly. "Let me out."

"Let you out?" she asked as if misunderstanding, and then her voice changed. She looked harsh and gleeful like a djinn with a victim. "Let you out? When I get to see you die?"

"Selene!" Emma's response was sharp, with no trace of panic, but Emily could see her knuckles clench until they were ice-pale.

"Do you remember the story?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The story of Scheherazade? Not the ones she told, but the one she lived? The one about women like you, the wives of kings, who were so insatiable that they took base black slaves as lovers and died for their lust? You have a Sultan for a husband, and yet you fill yourself with the cock of a dirty criminal?" Selene smiled. "I knew you would. That's why I let him stay. You have no idea how long I've ached to see your blood."

"Your husband?" Emily asked as she balanced on the roof of the hut, seeing if she could reach the top of wall.

"I was a gift, a political expediency. Younger than the child." Emma slithered up behind her and caught her waist. Emily tensed and nearly fell. "Hold still." She lifted her up on her shoulders.

Emily palmed the smooth marble. The top of the wall was still far too high. Death was looking to be a promising future, but it had done so often enough before. She slid off Emma's shoulders and off of the roof. The latch was still as firm as the last three times she had checked. The guards would be back in moments.

"Is she his wife as well?"

Emma leaned against the bars, quiet for a moment. "No."

Emily fiddled with a stick trying to catch the handle of the latch. The stick broke. "His concubine then? That's what most of the women here are, right?"

Emma didn't respond.

"Where are you from?"

"The north."

"Do you want to go back there?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Before or after they chop my head off?"

"Before, preferably."

"I don't care. I went from one master to another. If there's no difference, how can there be a preference?"

Emily nodded and gave up. "Do you think they would be more lenient if they... _knew_?"

Emma shrugged. "Unlikely. Harboring a criminal is always a good fallback."

The most humiliating part was walking in her disguise. It felt desperate, and a waste. If she were going to be executed, Emily would rather to go as herself, whoever that was. She took off the headscarf, not caring if that meant she was claiming to be a man. She wondered if a prophet had said it, that it was better to die as a man than live as a woman. It was insulting, whoever had said it, but true.

The gates of the harem swung shut behind them. The women were gathered, watching, the child held back in one woman's arms, looking lost and confused. The lock clicked and the sandals of the guards clicked against the floor in unison.

"She's my daughter," said Emma, flatly. "I was twelve."

There was always a chance. This one came when the Wazier arrived in a fury and tripped over one of the guards' spears, tumbling to the floor. There was a moment of panic and while the guards on Emily's side were distracted with trying to help him up, Emily did what she was good at. She ran.

And every footstep was a hundred other footsteps, ever since the first time, with the burning house and the screaming, and how she couldn't stop, couldn't help, could never save anyone but herself.

Sometimes she wondered when there wouldn't be enough of herself left to save.


	2. 1984

**Big Brother**

-by Alsike

Big Brother is Watching You

It was the sign over the office that Emma Frost walked out of every morning. It never made her laugh. That was her job, surveillance of possible terrorist cells within Genosha, and what she did, all day, every day, was watch.

She had seven targets. Generally she was supposed to switch randomly between them, but she had been following them for long enough to know their schedules. While they were at work or asleep she would put on one pattern, which would flick quickly through the boring ones at three minute intervals. If one was not where he was supposed to be, Emma would go back and check, otherwise she would follow her actives.

She worked the night shift, 6 to 6, one half hour break. It wasn't the most challenging of jobs. It was watching. The hard part was being able to detect criminal activity. But Emma was good at that. That was why she only had 7 targets, instead of the eight she had originally been assigned.

She always checked the targets in a particular pattern. 1-7. One was generally entertaining, a mother, pretty, young and blonde, looking after her child. Her husband worked nights, so she was often awake. She would bustle about, cleaning, doing laundry, making dinner. Sometimes she would watch late night television, and it always made Emma wonder if someone was watching her watch them. She wouldn't be surprised if there were, but she pitied the poor shmuck with such a boring job.

Two was a man, living alone. He was divorced, it seemed. Sometimes a small boy would be staying with him, and he would look almost happy, sitting in his room, watching him sleep, but he wasn't often there. Emma wouldn't be surprised if this man did end up in a terrorist plot, but he never made any plans for it at night, at least not aloud.

Three was another young woman, a night owl, affixed to her computer. Emma had a special bug that would show her what was on the woman's computer screen. Sometimes she wondered if the woman had found it and was feeding it other information, because it tended to be a stream of gossip sites, RPGs and the occasional pornographic video, but the woman always seemed so intent. And she was always on her computer; she must have some ability with it.

Emma had written a lot of reports about her, but nothing had panned out. That was probably a good thing. Otherwise how on earth would she catch up on the activities and outfits of Ororo, Queen of Wakanda?

Four was a young black man, a fireman. He was one of the best to watch, sometimes joking around with other guys, playing practical jokes, and sometimes fighting fires. The camera in his protective gear was often nauseating to watch, always bobbing around and usually obscured with smoke. Sometimes, when he was off duty, he would bring someone home to fuck. At first it had always been girls, and after the first few times, Emma had memorized his technique and it had gotten boring. But then he brought home a boy. It was clear he had never taken it in the ass before, and he was far too tense. The time had flown that night, and Emma had laughed the entire time. Now he brought home both boys and girls. Sometimes Emma would watch, but only for nostalgia's sake. (It always reminded her of that first time, and she couldn't help but laugh at the memories of his facial expressions and the noises he had made.)

Five was an older man. He was full of suspicious activity, but otherwise he rarely did anything interesting. He was a therapist, and occasionally had patients over at night for emergency sessions. Sometimes they led to sex. Emma found him physically repulsive and thought that his exploitation of suicidal young girls ought to put him in a work camp, but so far none of her reports had been followed up on.

Six was an odd one. He was a young man who lived with his mother and spent most of his time reading. She couldn't say he ever did anything, but once in a while the way he looked at himself in the mirror made Emma wonder what was going on in his head.

And then: her favorite. Number seven was a woman, pale skin and dark hair, a night worker, like herself. She worked swing shift at a government morgue. It wasn't what she had trained for, but she had a strong stomach and steady hands, and the work was one of the few opportunities available to her after being fired from her job as a psychiatrist for anti-government views. That was why she was being watched. She was the only one who knew she was being watched, aware of it by some sensitivity that the others in Emma's target group did not have. Sometimes she would turn around and look straight at the camera. Emma always felt pinned when she did that, caught. But it was just a lucky guess at where the camera was. There was no way she could know.

But whether or not she knew, she and Emma had a schedule. Number seven technically got off of work at midnight, but night shift was thin at the morgue and she often had to stay late. She always made it home by four though. She would come in the door and take off her coat and shoes, then pad into the kitchen in her socks. She would look into the refrigerator and then glance back over her shoulder at the camera, as if she could feel someone watching. Sometimes Emma wondered if she glanced back on the days she missed it or was off, but there was no way to tell.

She would eat something, usually cold, not even bothering to warm it up, and make tea. Sometimes she would turn on the television while she finished the tea, just infomercials, or the presidential chats which played on repeat all night, but sometimes she would talk to the camera.

It had started out as anger.

"Aren't you fucking bored!"

The words had shocked her. There was something safe about watching from behind a screen, something sneaky and anonymous. She hadn't expected to be spoken to.

"Do you really think you're doing the right thing? Do you really want this world to be this way?" She shook her head. "Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe you just know better than to try and fight this."

It was naïve of her to jump to that conclusion. There were plenty of people who were fooled by the idea of safety, the idea that the government was there to protect them, by spying and disappearing the ones who disagreed. Emma wasn't one of them, but she definitely knew better than to fight.

A few nights later she spoke again. "I had to do an autopsy today… on a girl, twelve years old." She shook her head. "She had been raped and strangled, death by traumatic asphyxiation. I had to write down accidental asphyxiation. It was clearly murder, but no one can know that happens here. Isn't that what makes it easier? If we know that people disappear but we aren't told why, there's no panic, no anger, there's no resistance." She bit her lip, hunched over her tea for nearly a minute. "Maybe it's better for us too, if we don't fear the killer coming in the night."

Some nights it was still like that, when something particularly bad had happened, or she had heard rumors of things covered up, but sometimes number seven just talked, about her day, about something she had seen or read. It was almost like she saw the camera as a friend. Emma wondered if this was a form of insanity. The former psychiatrist seemed to be wondering the same thing, reflexively grumbling about night shifts causing psychoses.

But the next part of the schedule was what Emma never missed. Number seven would put her mug in the sink and go into the bathroom, slowly stripping as she went. The camera in the bathroom would usually steam up, and the angle was terrible to begin with, but afterwards…

It had started oddly, the woman in her pajamas, under the covers, face buried in the pillows, but her hips moving just enough for Emma to know what she was doing.

It wasn't hot. It wasn't anything. But it was strange to have someone who was just speaking to you, turn around and do that. If they had been in the same room it would have been very strange, and as it was, it still seemed exhibitionist, even if it was the least exhibitionist sexual activity that Emma had seen on her screens.

Number seven seemed to feel the same way. After the second time she had spoken, and then touched herself, she rolled over, looking sleepily up at the ceiling. "Like that? Skeeve."

"Oh, come on. As if you showed me anything worth watching!" Emma retorted before she remembered that the microphone only worked one way.

It got better, if better was the right word. The covers came down; the shirt came off. It was all done so carefully, so pointedly, and when number seven took off her shirt for the first time, turning enough towards the camera so it got a good view of her breasts, Emma flushed.

It was almost like watching pornography, but worse. With porn there was always a diffusion of responsibility. You weren't the one holding the camera, you weren't the one who paid, swayed, or convinced the players, your eyes did not make this happen, even if, considering about market forces, supply and demand, they kind of did. But this…

Emma watched every day, save weekends. It was her job. She kept her eyes on the screen, monitored the cameras that this woman hadn't had _any_ ability to say no to.

And it wasn't spying.

If anything it was whoring. There was a little desperation in it, a little 'don't tell on me, don't have me killed, and I'll do this for you. Keep me alive, and I'll do anything for you.' It was like the Arabian Nights, one more story, one more night, one more flash of breast or unsuppressed moan, one more day to live.

Sometimes Emma wondered if she was obsessed. She would always switch to channel seven around three am. She hated it if she missed any of the ritual, even watching the woman take her shoes off. She interrogated the weekend sub who had her console. He had no idea what she was talking about. Apparently number seven slept most of the night on the weekends.

It shouldn't have been as much of a relief as it was.

And then came the day where number seven turned towards the camera and started to strip. It wasn't the absent tossing aside of the day's soiled clothes. It was purposeful, a show. And she looked straight at the camera, and Emma froze, unable to tear her gaze away, to press the button to change the channel.

She watched her touch herself, her fingers sliding over her breasts, between her legs. Emma leaned on the volume button until it was like being there, hearing the skin rumple the sheets, her breathing, sometimes she even thought she could hear the slick slap of her fingers moving inside of her.

Then she turned the light off, and Emma stumbled into the staff bathroom and brought herself off in one of the stalls.

It wasn't like watching pornography; it was better.


	3. Supernatural

**Considering Virgins**

-by Alsike

Emma Frost, priestess of the cult of Sekhmet, finished sharpening her sickle. The moon was nearly up, and she was dressed to the nines in her ceremonial robes. For most of the ceremony, she wouldn't need them, as the actual ritual performance had to be completed sky-clad, which was good for the laundry. Her father had been a demon, but her mother a human, and to gain her full powers she had to perform a ceremony of blood, which generally ended up being rather messy.

She had killed others in her quest for power, mostly accidentally. But she wasn't allowing herself to be bothered about doing it again. It had to be an innocent though. She had told her minions just not to find someone too young. She had some qualms at least about that. Not _many_ but some.

She was prepared.

The girl seemed to be around her own age, that was good, drugged and docile, with pretty dark eyes and a hatchet tipped nose. She smiled lazily up at Emma from the altar.

"Hey. You're pretty."

Emma smiled back. "You too."

"Are you going to kiss me?"

"Better than that."

She looked intrigued. Emma leaned close. "I'm going to murder you."

The girl blinked uncomprehendingly at her, tipping her head up slightly, still ready to be kissed if she changed her mind, she supposed. Emma considered it. She could murder the girl and bathe in her blood, or… as she was supposed to be an _innocent_, she could take her until she bled. The second one hadn't seemed attractive before, but this girl was really gagging for it.

"Unless…"

The girl blinked again, looking hopeful.

"I could fuck you."

She smiled, hopeful and shy, and Emma leaned in and kissed her, wet and messy, but not unduly rough. She always had the second option if this didn't seem to be working.

Apparently the little slut was incredible at giving head. Emma thought she might keep her. She flipped her over and enjoyed the little gasp of pain she made as her ribs hit the edge of the stone altar.

In the morning the sacrifice groaned and whimpered a little as she tried to sit up. Emma had found a use for the scythe, the handle of it at least. She sat leaning back against a pile of pillows, sharpening the scythe, watching her wake up.

"Hey."

She saw the girl's eyes widen and the look of pained horror cross her face.

"What's your name, slut?"

She blinked unhappily. "Emily," she said, weakly.

Emma nodded. "Fine. Do you have any idea what your recovery time is, because I'm having ideas about other things I want to put in your ass?"

"But you were supposed to kill me!"

Emma blinked. She didn't think the kidnapped victim was supposed to be so up on the info. "What? Did you like, volunteer, or something?"

Emily made an awkward expression. "Sort of."

"Elaborate," Emma made a gesture with the scythe.

"I'm, uh, Emily _Winchester_."

Emma stared at her. "What?"

"You have heard of me, right? Because I've been hunting you for like _years_ and it would be kind of embarrassing if…"

"I know you! You fucking bitch!"

"Hey!"

Emma considered that she had just fucked her up the ass and decided that she had a bit of the superiority here. She would wait until later to get revenge for all the times this girl had messed up her plans. "Fine. But seriously. You wanted me to kill you?"

"It was a plan."

"A stupid plan."

"I was prepared! I had _this!_" Emily leaned over, dropping the sheet so the temporary tattoo placed on her shoulder blade was visible. Emma _had_ noticed it, and had wondered what someone _her_ age was doing still fooling around with temporary tattoos. "If you had wounded me, it would turn back on you. And if you had done it properly, struck the killing blow, bang, we're done with you." Emily scowled.

Emma sat back and considered this. "What if I had decided to torture you first?"

"It was a risk I was willing to take."

"And how long is it supposed to last?"

Emily stiffened. "I'm not telling you that."

"You know, I'm pretty sure there are certain no-fault ways to get around it, if it's not already broken."

"Why do you think it's already broken?" Emily asked worriedly.

"Because you were bleeding when you passed out this morning, and I wasn't."

Emily considered this, and made an uncomfortable expression. "Oh, I guess I'm really not a virgin anymore."

"You were in _doubt_?"

"The rules are sometimes kind of complicated!"

This seemed to be rather defensible. Emma leaned back and sparked of a tiny stream of fire from her fingertip. Apparently other definitions had been satisfied as well. That was good. "So, now we have this problem."

"What problem?" Emily asked suspiciously.

"I didn't kill you. But I can't let you _go_."

"Why not?"

"Because then you'll try to kill me, again."

Emily swallowed. "I could promise not to?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "So, I can either have you killed now, or just keep you. Preferences?"

Emily seemed to contemplate this deeply. "Would the keeping involve… repeated violation on altars?"

Emma blinked. "If you want it to? I was thinking indoor recreation can be fun too."

"Oh." Emily paused on the brink of saying something, her mouth contorted into a shape that made Emma think dirty thoughts. "Okay," she finally managed. "I'd rather… not die yet."

"Good."

Emma's primary minion came in with breakfast. Emily yelped and hurriedly tugged the sheet back up to cover herself. Both Emma and the minion blinked at her. She looked embarrassed, but made no attempt to change position.

"Oh," said Emma, and she looked over to her minion. "Who thought it was a good idea for me to sacrifice Emily Winchester?"

The minion looked rather panicked. "Erm, I don't know. "I will inquire." He set down the tray and departed briskly.

Emma looked over at Emily, still huddled under the sheet. "You do know they all saw me take you, naked, on an _altar_ last night, right?"

"Fuck off."

"You have a dirty mouth for an angel." Emma leered. "Really _dirty_."


	4. Barbie's Mermadia

**Mermadia Falcon**

-by Alsike

It was never easy, being a mermaid in a merman's world. You didn't go anywhere without your gat for one, at least if you were the sort of mermaid to go around on your own. Emily was that sort, and she never went anywhere unprotected, not with the rampaging bulls roaming, ready to corner anyone alone. And Emily didn't have a pod anymore. She hadn't for a long time, not since she had been a little calf, swimming with her mother and siblings and their pod had been attacked. Guns had been rare then, but this school of bulls had them. They had taken her struggling fighting mother, grabbing her wrists, her head, restraining her tail. And Emily had heard them laugh as the bullets from their gats plowed through the water towards them, target practice, nothing else. Emily had hidden in the cloud of blood, too panicked to run, and watched. She had seen the s-shaped hooks of their cocks, as ready as spears, their thrusting tails. They took turns. After a while her mother had stopped calling out. And then, when they were done, one of their cocks snaked around her neck and snapped it.

Emily didn't have a pod anymore. She had a gat instead.

The barnacles glittered in the dim light of the setting sun and Emily swam up the gorge towards the surface and her place of business. The lights to the shops and clubs were just coming on. It was a dangerous neighborhood, right up by the cliffs, with some quite suspicious looking merpeople hanging around on the corners, but Emily had lived here for a long time, and she was considered one of the reasons it was dangerous.

Derek was up fixing the sign to his bar, 'The Drowned Pirate,' and saw her. He waved her over, kicking down to her level.

"I saw someone heading into your place," he said in a low tone. "Either you've got a customer or some other type of company." Emily nodded, her hand finding the smooth back of her gat. "You want me and Spence to back you up?"

"Just one, right?"

Derek nodded.

"I think I can take one." She gave him a humorless grin. "Thanks for the heads up though."

"Don't worry about it." He gave her a shoulder pat. "You better come to the club tonight though. And if I hear a shot, we're heading over."

It was dark in the lower caves, but there was definitely someone waiting for her. Emily stood in the doorway, exit at her back, and flipped on the light. It was a mermaid, slim and sleek, with the pale coloring of the nobility, a slivery blue back and a pale belly, with a matching pale cloud of hair, nothing like Emily's black back, white front, and white streaked sides. She was leaning against Emily's desk, tail curled underneath, the thin silver duster open at the front, showing off more pale skin, the curve of breasts, and chains of glittering shells, wrapped in loops around her neck and waist and tailfins. She was clearly not from around _here._

Keeping the stranger fixed in view, Emily glanced to the corners of the room. Everything was open down there, no place for an ambush, and the upper floor, where she lived, was sealed off. She swam into the room, with a slow easy kick and shut the door behind her. She fixed the mermaid with a steady look. The mermaid looked back, eyes narrow and evaluating.

"Who the fuck are you, and what were you _thinking_, breaking into my office?"

"Sorry if I thought waiting for you in here was a better idea than hanging around outside," the mermaid drawled, and Emily just tried to get her head around this. "I'm Emma Frost, and I'm here because I have business for you."

"This is not the sort of place for someone like you. Don't you know that it's dangerous here?"

"That's why I came to you."

This mermaid, who had just barged into her office, was most definitely not from around here. The Frosts were one of the wealthiest families in the reef; nobility basically, and there was absolutely no excuse for her to be here, whatever she said about Emily's reputation.

"Doesn't your family assign you _bodyguards_?"

Emma shrugged. "Spies, you mean? I don't need my family knowing I came here. But I am willing to pay you, whatever you ask, so don't you want to hear about my difficulties, detective?"

Emily frowned. "I'm not promising anything."

"I'm engaged."

"Congratulations," Emily said dryly. Emma gave her a narrow look.

"Don't be to hasty with that. I've been hearing rumors that he's been… cheating. And I want proof of it being true, or proof of it not."

Emily shook her head, tired and exasperated with this foolhardy request. "I can't take that case."

"Why not?"

"First of all, it's pretty hard to find proof that something isn't happening. And second, do you really expect me to be able to get near anyone on your side of town without getting broiled?"

Emma's eyes scanned over her in such a way that made Emily want to zip up her jacket. "Surely you have someone to ask. I don't think he's been discreet. I'm not as much of an idiot as you might think. I came to you for a reason, because you're right, it would be dangerous to go to anyone else. But I think it might be just as dangerous for me in the long run to do nothing."

Emily groaned. "Fine."

Spencer was behind the floating bar, pouring drinks. Derek was swimming around the tables, picking up empties and chatting up the sparse customers. He brought the glasses back and gave Spencer a kiss along with an order for more drinks from the tables. Emma watched them and then glanced away, an impenetrable expression on her face. Emily frowned, but led the way in.

"Emily!" Derek embraced her. "Glad to see you're alive."

"Who's this, Emily?" Spencer looked over curiously from where he was drying glasses, and lining them up.

"My client," Emily replied flatly. "She decided that she'd rather assist me personally than let me get down to work."

"How helpful of her."

Emma snorted lightly and jabbed Emily with an elbow. Emily took the hint, "I thought I'd ask you a few things."

Spencer looked interested, but Derek frowned, glancing Emma over in a businesslike way. "I don't think we have the sort of information you need."

"Long shot, I know." Emily shrugged. "Give me a drink."

"You Mademoiselle?" Spencer inquired of Emma.

Emma asked for a disgustingly expensive brand. Emily rolled her eyes.

"We're looking to see if anyone's heard of the activities of the merman, Warren Worthington Jr."

Spencer swished his tail consideringly, but shook his head. "Not really part of our town."

Emily shrugged and gave Emma a sharp look. "I told you it wasn't going to happen."

Emma ignored her and sipped the drink, glancing around the half submerged bar, decorated with dreck from the landsmen. She seemed approving, generally, and threaded her fingers through her wet hair, dragging it away from her face.

"Of course, I think I spotted the guru in here tonight," added Derek. "You never know what she knows."

Emily frowned, the sooner she ran out of leads, the sooner she could send Emma home. She was safe for now.

"Stay here," she instructed. Emma gave her a look, but turned to Spencer and smiled. "I like your bar very much. Where did you come up with the decorations?"

Spencer brightened. He pointed down into the black depths beneath the entrance. "There's actually a sunken landsman whale down there. We just took the bits we thought would look nice. Derek arranged them mostly."

Emily groaned internally and swam away from them. Spencer could talk about his bar for hours. It was filling up and Emily never quite knew if the guru wasn't in the cluster or if she had just turned away at the wrong moment. But finally she caught sight of blonde hair and a huge anemone bloom and headed that way.

She wasn't there yet when she heard the yelling start, she was far away from the bar. The yelling was coming from outside, but loud enough to echo through the water and the stone walls of the cave. Merpeople were looking up, glancing around worriedly. Emily couldn't see the bar, and people were blocking the way back. Then the door burst off its hinges.

It was a pod of young bulls, drunk and armed. They charged in, yelling, throwing glasses they had ripped off the tables, tearing the decorations off the walls. One grabbed a patron who was trying to flee and beat him about the head with a stave from the walls. He fell into the water, unconscious and sinking like a stone.

That set off the blood lust, and the other kinds of lust too. Mermaids, old, young, ugly or pretty regardless were grabbed. One bull pulled out his gat and started shooting at glasses. The patrons sunk low, trying to get out of range, but the bulls went down too. Emily saw two grab a mermaid by her arms and a third grab her head and then start… he had a pale silver back, and the chains dangling from his neck and arms were too rich and fancy for him to be just any wild bull.

She turned, dodging through the panicked crowd, swimming up towards the bar. The bar had been smashed. Bulls were crawling over it, grabbing bottles, drinking some, and smashing others. Emma and Derek were nowhere, Spencer was fighting, his face bloody, as he dodged and weaved, keeping out of the way of a buck lashing out with a shattered bottle. Emily ducked back under, scanning through the bloody water desperately. And then she caught sight of a pale silver back again, two pale silver backs. Apparently Warren had finished, and he was chasing after another mermaid. Emma's eyes were wide, watching him, and she didn't notice the black-streaked bull and the dark blue one coming. Emily pulled her gat. It was a tough shot, but the miniature torpedo thundered through the water. It impacted the blue one's shoulder and exploded. Emma whirled at the waves, striking the black streaked one in the gut with a heavy tail, and spinning, seeking escape. Emily dove in, grabbing her arm and dragging her down towards the base.

There was a tunnel there, into a smaller cave Spencer and Derek used for storage, and there was a back way out. She darted around a small outcropping, Emma close on her tail, and into the channel. There were shouts, and she couldn't be certain that there wasn't pursuit. She couldn't stop. They swerved through the cave, and up to the tiny door. Emily unbolted it quickly, thank Derek it wasn't locked, and they were out, in the alley.

It wasn't safe there. The shouts of bulls and fleeing citizens came clear from the nearby streets. She whirled, looking to Emma who was listening, serious and intent, and grabbed her arm. "Lets go."

"You're kind of fucking noble aren't you?" Emma asked, unexpectedly laughing and swimming close enough to her to brush their sides as they moved through the back alleys. Emily ignored her, listening to the crashing and shouts as the bulls wrecked the town. They quieted a little as she made it back to her offices, thankfully, and Emily made sure the lower doors were bolted, and then swam up to the higher caves and bolted those doors too.

Only then did she stop to breathe.

The Drowned Pirate was a wreck, but the bulls couldn't get in here, not into the top cavern at least, she was prepared for that, whatever Emma breaking into her lower cave said about the security below. They hadn't made it this far up the canyon yet, but who knew when they would? She just had to batten down and wait for the storm to pass.

She turned to Emma, hovering near the surface.

"It's not safe to go home tonight. They're on the hunt in this town, and I hate to say it, but you're prime victim material."

Emma rolled her eyes and swished her tail. "I've never had a compliment that sounded so much like an insult before."

"I didn't intend it to be complimentary." She didn't understand this mermaid. How could she be so relaxed after such a close brush, risking what could have been their lives? And her fiancé had been part of the raid. How could she… unless she had already guessed?

"I know." Emma shrugged. "Fine. I'll stay, if you're so desperate to have me."

Emily sputtered. She definitely hadn't said that!

"Party favor." Emma pulled a bottle of kelp liquor out of her jacket and flashed it at Emily.

"You took that!" Emily exclaimed. Stealing from her friends too? Did she have no shame?

"It was going to get smashed anyway. I protected it."

"Looter!"

"Shut up." Emma snapped off the cap, plugging it with her thumb and glanced around for mugs. She found some and broke the surface, scrambling up onto the rock ledge, and poured out.

Emily shrugged out of her jacket, and hoisted herself out of the water. She accepted the offering and took a swig from the mug. Top shelf. This clearly hadn't been spur of the moment.

In the salt air Emma's hair was clumping as it dripped droplets of water that ran in smooth channels down her shoulders. Emily unfastened the band that kept her hair back, and shook it out as a distraction. She couldn't keep looking at Emma, even if Emma was still looking at her.

"Did you know that he was with a pod of bulls?"

Emma flinched. "Maybe. I just… I needed an excuse, any excuse."

"For what?"

"I don't want to marry him," Emma said awkwardly.

Emily snorted. After seeing that, who would? Still, she didn't have many illusions about what sort of choices mermaids were allowed, no matter how wealthy and highborn. "As long as you stay on your side of town he won't do anything to _you_. You're _safe_."

"I didn't really…" Emma bit off her sentence, and her voice dropped, both in pitch and in volume. "Maybe I'm not that interested in safe."

Emily looked up. What in the oceans… Emma was watching her intently with those crisp cool blue eyes. Her lips were wet with liquor, her skin… Emily let her eyes drop, almost on accident. The silver white skin of her tail belly was slightly flushed rose. And suddenly the direct hard gaze was humiliating, and Emily felt hot, unable to look. Emma's face burned and she turned away, trying to turn her stomach too.

"I'm sorry."

Emily hadn't meant to embarrass her, and she reached out, almost involuntarily, and pressed her hand against the smooth warm skin of Emma's belly. Emma hissed in air, glancing back, holding herself stiff, and Emily started to move her hand, stroke softly, and the rose flush brightened. Emily pushed off her other hand, moving towards her until her own front was close enough to touch. She pressed their tails together. Emma was all white and pink; pale skin, flushed cheeks, belly, lips and nipples. And Emily leaned in, cupping her cheek with her cool hand to hold her head in place and pressing their mouths together, lips touching gently, nothing like the heat of their sensitive fronts as they rubbed together, nipples sharp and brushing. Emily's hand went to one breast, curling around it. Emma was rubbing at her dorsal fin, stroking down her back and up over the smooth curve, almost clinging. And then, slowly, Emily broke the kiss.

"Is that what you mean by not safe?"

Emma was flushed, breathing hard, her chest heaving. Emily couldn't help reaching out for her exposed breasts, groping roughly, and Emma's tail bucked up against hers, curling around her. "Yes," she hissed. And Emily caught her shoulders, pulling her off the ledge and back down into the water.

Once there, Emma beat out with her tail, propelling them towards the wall, and started moving against her. She kissed her, her mouth hot, and Emily let herself be kissed, closed her eyes, and felt Emma's tongue slip into her mouth. She didn't want to pull away, but mostly didn't want to look down, see her own arousal written in red across her front.

And then Emma's mouth was gone, and she was sliding down her body, biting at her neck, sucking roughly at her breasts, and her hand was moving down, teasing, twisting in her navel, and then farther down the front of her tail, and Emily tried to gasp and choked.

Emma glanced up, hair haloing her face, and frowned, then kicked out, bringing them just up enough so Emily's head was above water. It was as humiliating as anything, but Emily had never felt anything like that, not enough to make her forget not to breathe. And then Emma's long slender fingers slipped into her and it was even _worse_. They twirled around the hot swollen nub, and Emily's tail thrust frantically into her, and then she slipped down, and Emily couldn't help pulling her inside, just enveloping her hand. She could feel it so well inside of her, and tightened around it, tugging, grasping and releasing. Emma's mouth was kissing her navel, tongue inside it, and her hand was so deep, the other cupped around her dorsal fin, and she was shuddering against her, desperate for the air, and coming, so unbelievably hard.

She gasped and then sank under the foaming water, Emma coming up to kiss her, and then smirk. "And _I'm_ victim material?"

The blood, the s-hooks, the shouts from so little before, shocked her, and Emily felt cold and angry. She grabbed Emma's wrists, shoving her against the wall. Her head snapped back, cracking sharply against it. "Yes," she said harshly. "And if you don't know why…" Emma flinched, and Emily leaned in, biting down on her lower lip until she tasted blood in the water. Her tail was pressed against Emma's sleek belly, keeping her trapped. But Emma's tail curled around it, moving roughly against hers, and Emily could feel it, hot and slick and desperate, and she slid her hand down, over the curve of her breast and down her side until she reached the slit on the front of her tail, and with one finger teased inside. It caught at her, tugging hard. Emma gasped into her mouth, asking for more, but Emily pulled it out slowly, teasing. Then another finger, circling her clit, and moving down, and Emma's tail was humping against her hand, but she still wouldn't give her more.

"You don't understand. I might be safe, but being around me _isn't_."

"Stop trying to control me," Emma hissed, tail tightening around her. "You're not my father."

And Emily pushed into her, forcefully, tightening her hand into a fist. It tightened around her wrist, trying to hold her immobile, but she wouldn't let it. Biting down on Emma's shoulder she moved roughly and Emma's arms tightened around her, fingernails clawing at her back.

It wasn't just one time. Afterwards, exhausted, they floated near the top, still and curled up close together. Emma's head was pressed into her shoulder and her hands slowly moved up and down her body, stroking her back, her sides. Emily let herself relax into her touch.

"I told you that I wasn't interested in safe."

Emily looked at her, her bruised mouth, cooling belly, she flexed her hand, trying to forget the feeling of driving it deeply into her. And she remembered too well that cloud of blood, the anger and lust, her own lust. "You should be," she replied, and swam down to open the door and throw her out.

Emma stiffly made her way towards the door with plaintive beats of her tail. When she was outside, two burly mermen came out of the shadows, and Emily stiffened. But Emma didn't seem frightened, she just groaned. "I thought I lost you two."

"Not for long enough." Her bodyguard scowled and caught her chin. "Your daddy's not going to be pleased with those marks on you, whore."

"Shut the fuck up. You going to tattle on me?" She snorted. "I'm not surprised. You always do."

Emily hovered in the shadows by the doorway, and watched them swim away, guilty but helpless.

There was nothing in these caves of white stone and living coral that made Emma feel safe. The fact that her father was waiting, swimming laps in the atrium, made her feel even less so.

"We got her," Trevor growled, and shoved her towards him. Emma straightened up stiffly, pulling her duster closed over her front. There was nothing she could do about the ugly swelling on her lip. Her father looked at her, but she wouldn't meet his gaze, ducking her head slightly to try to keep the welt out of his line of sight. It didn't work, he swam closer, grabbed her jaw and jerked her face around until she couldn't help but meet her eyes. Her pressed his thumb down on the wound and it opened, bleeding again, but Emma held back the sound she wanted to make at the pain.

"Somehow I don't believe you got into a fight."

"You should," Emma snapped back, as well as she could with her jaw restrained. "It was a bar brawl. Warren and his _pod_ started it."

"Do you usually get teeth marks in your lip from a bar brawl?"

"Why does it fucking matter how I got teeth marks in my lip?" Emma jerked away from him. "Warren is in a wild bull pod and you're still making me be with him. Shouldn't I be allowed to do what I please as well?"

Her father laughed at her. He actually laughed. Emma whirled.

"You are allowed many things because he is in that pod." Her father flashed his teeth. "You are allowed to feel _safe_ because he is powerful, I am powerful. But the moment you step out of our protection, you are worthless, and just as vulnerable as anyone else. If you got out of the bar brawl _unscathed_, you were lucky, and that's all you were."

He looked at her as if he thought that the mark on her face was a sign that she had paid for her escape with her body, but if she had it was a mark of gratitude, not payment. She scowled, not mentioning the detective with the gat who hadn't just abandoned her. "You're saying I should be grateful to be a prisoner?"

"Essentially. You have a choice: be a prisoner or a victim. But after this?" He ran his middle finger over her lower lip and she recoiled. "You won't have a second chance to make that choice."

"You were at the Drowned Pirate last night, weren't you?"

Emma looked up from where she was hastily stuffing things into her bag and spotted her brother peeking in the entrance. She stopped what she was doing and turned to him. He came inside, closing the door behind him carefully.

"I was," she replied. "Are you going to rail at me too, for being a _whore_?"

"No," Christian said softly. He didn't say he didn't agree with the summation either though. "Spencer and Derek are good mermen. You can trust them, and those they consider friends. If you're really going…" he nodded towards the half full bag. "You should go back there."

Emma touched her lip absently and shook her head. "I don't think their friends want me around right now."

Christian looked at her and laughed. "I doubt that would truly stop them from helping you. Here." He pressed a small gat, easily concealable, into her hand, and touched her arm gently. "Stay safe for me."

She hadn't intended on going there, but she had studied that area better than the others she had never been allowed to go into, and ended up at the door. Spencer and Derek were in the midst of cleaning up, Derek diving for whatever was salvageable from the floor, Spencer sorting out the mess of broken glass that was their liquor shelves. She did feel slightly guilty for taking the kelp liquor, but it really would have been smashed. The bulls didn't leave a thing behind.

She announced her presence. "Hey."

Spencer glanced up and gave her a smile. "Nice to see you again." Derek surfaced and his expression was more suspicious.

"My brother sent me here, Christian. Do you know him?"

Derek nodded, his suspicion fading.

And then Emma made the effort. "I was wondering if I could get a job here."

Spencer laughed. "Sure, take a broom."

Emily came in a few hours later, a delivery box dragging behind her on a rope. She instantly spotted Emma, sweeping broken glass off the shelves and wiping them clean. She gaped for a few moments.

"What are you doing here?"

Emma didn't turn around. "I'm not speaking to you right now."

The exclamation of frustration and fury nearly made Spencer drop the tiller he was mounting on the wall. Derek grinned, taking the box from her and patting her on the shoulder. "We gave her a job. You have plenty of time to win her back."

FIN


End file.
